I have been writing a lot of fiction for years now. It means I'm always writing a first draft, or editing, polishing, or plotting another story. And oh, how I love writing stories. But these stories, so important to me, crowd out my other writing. I feel that I have only so much creativity for each day (and certainly only so much time), and so I have grown rusty at remembering, processing, and telling my days in writing. When I don't write, I can't think. So my thoughts are muddy and cluttered. I react, I misjudge. I see a direct link between my life-telling here and my inner state.
What can I do? I can't stop writing fiction. I can start writing here again. But I need to lower the stakes, to allow for the one sentence posts, for photos and ideas and unprofessional ramblings. In the past, writing about One Thing has helped. Here I am again, picking up a practice I have laid down. Blogging one thing at a time as close to daily as I can.
This is one thing today: starts and pauses, picking things up, dropping them again. It would be a good diagram for my life, a jagged line that is never completely smooth. But somehow, in the midst of it all, a life time of writing (or exercising, drawing, praying, or knitting) emerges. We can also let the worries grow, or get tugged around without noticing beauty, without learning contentment. So don't despise small beautiful things. They collect and heap up on each other, and if we notice them and honor them, they form our lives.